Page 28 of Gonzo's Grudge
Peanut whistled, the sound sharp. “You got numbers?”
Burn drew a folded paper ledger—handwritten, angry. “Preliminary. Tri-State Southern accounts ending 6832, 7741, 2209. Over three years: five-point-two million moved through. Of that, one-point-nine to Stanley Aggregate. We don’t see a single load of gravel delivered for half those invoices. Cape Yaw billed forty-eight grand for ‘consulting’ the same week it formed. Douglas & Fine Arts claimed they muraled four community centers—two of those buildings don’t exist.”
“Who’s on paper for those entities?” I asked.
Burn smiled, mean. “Not Hampton. He used proxies. Stanley Aggregate lists a cousin, Duke. Cape Yaw belongs to a blind trust created by a law firm called Wex & Elkin—they’re Walsh’s old golfing buddies. Douglas & Fine Arts’ incorporator is a church deacon who suddenly has a new truck and no explanation.”
Dippy leaned forward, tapping the photos. “And you’re sure Walsh knows Hampton’s hands are in the till?”
“Positive,” Burn said. “Walsh was at a fundraiser three months back. The bank VP husband to Darlene, Hampton, they were all in the same room. The VP’s loans keep the county flush when the embezzled money leaves holes. Everybody gets paid. Everybody keeps quiet. Hampton keeps the receipts and photos in a safe—two, actually. One at city hall in his office. One in his house under the stairs.”
Shanks’s fingers drummed the table. “Anyone we can flip?”
Burn nodded at a name on the ledger. “Sutter. County clerk. He’s been forging approval memos. He owes Hampton a favor from a DUI that disappeared. He’s sweating now because the feds started sniffing around misallocations in neighboring counties. He’ll crack if we squeeze him right.”
Jester’s eyes narrowed. “Not with fists,” he warned. “As much as I want to put them all in the ground. We need admissible, not a confession with a broken jaw, for GJ.”
Burn shrugged. “I wasn’t gonna break his jaw. I was gonna break his ability to breathe.”
Disciple cleared his throat. “How does this get our boy out? Don’t tell me about making noise. Tell me about the legal leverage.”
Loco replied, “Talked to Devyn and a friend who has an in with the feds. We show that Walsh’s rulings were bought, that Hampton corrupted the court. That’s structural error. That’s level shit with huge fallout to all the cases, not just GJ. Devyn files a motion to vacate judgment based on judicial bias and newly discovered evidence, then petitions for habeas with Brady violations from the DA’s office playing lapdog.”
Burn nodded. “Exactly. But we need evidence not intel. These”—he tapped the photos—“are good for pressure. The receipt on a county card is better. The emails, better still. We need chain-of-custody for everything we intend to hand Devyn.”
“Parallel construction,” Loco added. “If we get something sketchy, we find a clean way to get it again.”
“Right,” Burn said. “So this is the plan: two tracks. Track one—dirty. We watch, we listen, we pull what we can to understand the shape of the monster. We pressure, we persuade, and we prevail. After which we take track two—clean. Paper trail requests. Open records. Procurement files. Vendor registrations. We use citizens’ groups and public records to build the connections all around Hampton.”
Dippy raised his hand like a kid. “I can set up dummy taxpayer groups, corporations, the whole shebang. Fake addresses. Stagger the requests so we don’t spook.”
“Do it,” I commanded, feeling like we were making progress.
Shanks leaned in, eyes like knives. “What about the mistress? Darlene. She flips, Walsh crumbles.”
Burn tilted his head. “She’s scared. Husband’s got his own throat on the line with those loans. Her HR file is clean but she’s got a brother with possession charges that disappeared like fog over a mountain. Hampton touches everything he needs to touch to keep people quiet. If we come at her, we come gentle. Or we wait until the feds warm the air and she wants to pick a side.”
Peanut scratched at the corner of a tattoo. “What about city hall safe? Can we get access?”
“Camera on the corridor,” Burn said. “Keypad, not biometric. Night janitor belongs to us. We can get the time and codes. But going in is a bell you can’t un-ring once we make that move. If we do it, we better have a use for what we take.”
I looked at the gavel, at the years worn into the wood by a man who taught me patience when I wanted to swing first. “We don’t go in yet.”
A rumble of disagreement rolled, quick and dull. I lifted my chin. The room went quiet.
“Walsh will fold with the mistress and the receipts. Hampton is the one that keeps everything standing. We yank on the wrong wire and he rebuilds before Devyn can file. We pull this slow, and when we pull, the whole damn house comes down. That means proof, not rumor. That means boxes of contracts, not whispers at the bar.”
Pull slid a yellow legal pad into the center and clicked a pen. “Assignments.”
I nodded. “Shanks—inside protection for GJ stays top priority. I want eyes on him at all hours. If he moves, somebody knows how many times he shits. If he coughs, I want a report.”
Shanks jerked his chin, already there. “Got two lifers who owe me. He’ll eat in peace. He won’t shower alone. He won’t walk alone. He’ll be safe from all sides.”
“Good,” I said. “Burn—you run the dig. But do it like we got a judge watching us, because we do. No cowboy shit without asking me first.”
Burn smirked. “Define cowboy.”
“Anything you’d write me a note about later.”
